


if you're honest

by Carmailo



Series: Voltron One Shots [18]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Laith, M/M, Minor Character Death, No season six spoilers!, Someone dies and it simultaneously makes and breaks them, Written before Season 6, background shallura - Freeform, billie eilish title bc im a loser, info from season 6 isnt included, it's not by me if there's no death, klance, them being the characters not shallura, two idiots coming to love one another
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-18 21:18:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14860484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carmailo/pseuds/Carmailo
Summary: Lance smiles at him in the same way Keith had seen Allura look at Shiro just this morning, at the altar of a small church.“What do you want?” Lance asks softly.Lance’s hand, Keith notices, is warm.It's in this way that Keith learns to forgive and move on. In this way that Keith learns how to love.





	if you're honest

**Author's Note:**

> Written mostly before season 6 dropped! I finished it today, a solid 97 hours after the drop...  
> (You can read spoiler-free! just don't read beyond this point of the beginning note!)
> 
> [SPOILERS:]  
> SPOILERS DON'T READ IT  
> SP O I L E R S IN THIS NOTE DON'T RE A D IT  
> Therefore, Keith has a galra mark, not a scar, he didn't age up, and klance still has that slight height difference. Basically everything's the same as it was before this season. (god how will anything from before this season be the same???)

“Douchebag,” Keith says venomously, staring at his screen as it dims, “straight to voicemail.”

Keith tosses his phone onto the table, crossing his arms.

Hunk doesn’t say anything as he drops his gaze, and Pidge’s face twists uncomfortably, a grimace ghosting across her features.

They’re quiet.

“What?” Keith asks, a little dejected, “aren’t you guys mad, too?”

“Of course we are,” Pidge says, quick to defend, “we were right there with you.”

“Yeah, man,” Hunk agrees, “I’ve been the guy’s best friend for _years._ ”

“Look, Keith,” Pidge starts, “he probably has a good reason. Lance isn’t the sort of person who just… leaves.”

“What reason could there possible be to excuse this?” Keith asks, “it’s not like we fought in a war together or anything.”

Pidge blinks at Keith, disapproval leaking into her gaze. “Keith, he wouldn’t be so distant if he didn’t have a reason. Trust me on this.”

“I _do,_ but still,” Keith insists. He stirs his drink with his straw. “I’d have thought you guys would be more upset about this,” he says, trying his best not to to sound pouty.

Pidge brings her own cup to her lips, leaning back.

“Keith,” Hunk starts, “we _are_ upset. It’s just… I _know_ he has a good reason, and my concern is so much bigger than my anger. At first I was mad, too. Now I’m just flat-out worried. I know Lance. He can’t stand being alone, even when the only person he has is hurting him the most.”

Keith looks away. Hunk is right. He’s always right.

“Can’t he at least talk to you?” Keith asks softly, gesturing at Hunk with his hand, “that’s not fair.”

“Life’s not fair,” Pidge replies, “and then your friend stops talking to you after melding minds for a decade.”

▸ ▹ 愛 ◂◃

“Call Shiro,” Keith says, watching as the holoscreen in front of him shifts, pulsing softly as it works to call Shiro.

The line doesn’t connect, but keeps sending the signal, which has… happened before, more than Keith would like to admit. But Keith can’t complain too much, considering Shiro is busy getting a ten-thousand year old monarchy back into shape, all while learning how to properly be a dignitary himself.

So Keith leaves the line open, knowing Shiro will pick up whenever he can.

Keith’s washing dishes when he hears Shiro call out a greeting, voice tired.

“Shiro,” Keith says, strolling into his living room, where he’s set up the holoscreen in front of his conspiracy board, which only hangs there in memory of what brought him to this point of time. Keith brings a towel with him, drying his hands.

“Hi,” Shiro says, voice going soft around the edges. He deflates a little bit, an exhausted smile curving his lips.

“Hey,” Keith replies, “how are you?”

“ _Tired,_ ” Shiro sighs, “Allura’s got me doing stuff twenty-four-seven.”

“All in day’s work!” Allura calls from offscreen.

“Sure,” Shiro mumbles, smiling at Allura. “Come say hi,” he adds. Keith looks away from the lovesick gaze. It feels like he shouldn’t be watching such an open display of emotions.

“Keith!” Allura says, sitting down next to Shiro. She leans into his side, beaming at Keith.

“Hey, Allura,” Keith greets, bringing his eyes back up, “how are you?”

“I’m excellent. Tired, but I can’t say I’m not having fun.” Allura says.

“What about you, Keith?” Shiro asks, “what’s new?”

“I’m good. Nothing too exciting going on.” Keith shrugs, pausing. “I’m actually pretty bored.”

Shiro laughs, “you’ve got nothing to do?”

“I meet with Hunk and Pidge sometimes, but otherwise, _no._ And going outside tends to end with a mass of paparazzi vying for my attention.”

Shiro laughs at this. Keith smiles. It’s nice to see Shiro smile, considering the misfortune of his last eleven years. Keith’s never really been able to understand how Shiro has always bounced back from every single bad thing that’s happened to him - far too many things to count. 

“What about Lance?” Shiro asks, innocence painting his features as his laughter dies down.

Allura regards Shiro’s profile momentarily before turning to Keith again, “yes. Have you heard anything from him?”

They both _know,_ of course they know.

They know Lance isn’t talking to anyone anymore, they know the last time anyone saw Lance was at their last conference, and Lance hadn’t said much outside of the meeting. They know the last time they saw _their_ Lance, the happy one who smiled no matter what, was during the parade. They know it’s been almost a month of radio silence.

“Not since the conference in January.” Keith says bitterly.

Allura sighs, slumping.

“And he hasn’t talked to us outside of meetings since November.”

Shiro’s brow furrows and he casts his gaze downwards.

“Last time I saw him smile was in November, too. Back when we landed,” Shiro adds.

Keith drops on his sofa, hearing the springs creak below him but not really caring that they do.

The three of them sit in silence, stewing. Or, at least Keith stews. He’s past being concerned for Lance, and is edging more into being pissed off, instead.

“Keith,” Shiro prompts quietly, and Keith tears his stare from his luxite blade, lying discarded on the coffee table like some glorified decoration.

“Are you okay?”

Keith stares at Shiro’s image, flickering ever so slightly every few seconds as the signal’s strength wavers.

What does that even _mean?_ Of course Keith is okay. Why wouldn’t he be?

“Yeah, ‘course.” Keith says, giving a half-hearted shrug, “why wouldn’t I be?”

“I know it’s hard,” Shiro continues, patting Allura’s leg gently. She stands, squeezing Shiro’s shoulder as she moves away. A moment later, a door shuts, signalling that Keith is alone with Shiro.

“You didn’t have to send her away,” Keith says, deflecting, “I don’t mind talking in front of her.”

“I know,” Shiro repeats, “and if you…” he trails off, lost.

Keith waits, shoving his bangs out of his eyes.

“If you ever feel… alone, or scared, or anything like that,” Shiro says, articulating himself carefully, “remember you’re not alone. I get it. Pidge, Hunk, Allura, even Lance. We all get it.”

“Yeah,” Keith says, nodding, “okay.”

“It’s alright to not be okay, Keith.”

Keith blinks at Shiro. “I know,” he says, even though he hadn’t really realized it until now.

“I do love you, Keith,” Shiro adds, “I don’t think I say that a lot to you, but you’re the best brother I could’ve hoped for.”

Keith blinks fiercely at the sudden misting of his eyes. “I… love you, too,” he says, “thanks, Shiro.”

Shiro smiles at Keith. Keith has to look away, before he starts tearing up any more.

▸ ▹ 愛 ◂◃

Keith isn’t going to answer the door; it’s four in the fucking morning. He’s not going to sacrifice his warm sheets for a… whatever it is at the front door.

But the knocking grows more insistent, so Keith groans and gets up, trudges to the door and rips it open so that the person there almost trips forward.

“What.” he spits.

And then his eyes widen and his mouth falls open as he takes in the person before him.

“Keith,” Lance says, one hand still mid-air from knocking.

“Lance?”

Lance nods, bringing his hand down. “Yeah, it’s me,” he says, looking as awestruck as Keith feels.

Keith hovers, unsure what to do. He’s imagined this moment so many times, imagined punching Lance and imagined kissing him. But none of his imagined fantasies had him in his pyjamas, and in none of them was Lance looking worse for wear at his doorstep at four in the morning.

Keith sets his face, erasing his surprise, clamping his mouth shut. He gives Lance a look of indifference, a look of anger, a look of complete disappointment. Takes a quiet breath to hide how wrecked he feels inside.

“What do you-”

“I’m so sorry, Keith.” Lance interrupts, “I’m so, so _sorry._ ”

Keith stares at Lance, watches the way his hands move to grip at his biceps, takes in the hunch to his back and the indents between his brows. Stares at the way his eyes won’t meet Keith’s.

“Where have you been?” Keith sighs at last, squeezing the door handle.

Lance shakes his head, “I’m sorry,” he repeats.

Keith works his jaw and drops his gaze. What’s he supposed to do?

“What… Why’re you here?”

Lance takes one hand and shoves it into his pocket, takes the other and rubs his face a little. He shrugs roughly, arms gangly and uncoordinated.

He’s a mess.

Keith sighs, lets go of the door handle, and reaches out to Lance, wiggles his fingers a little.

Lance looks between the hand and Keith’s face before taking it. Keith tugs lightly, and Lance steps forward.

The door is kicked shut and locked, and then Keith drags Lance into the kitchen and sits him down, rounding the island to lean on it in a way he hopes is some semblance of intimidating.

Keith clenches his jaw. Where has Lance been? Why hasn’t he made an effort to contact anyone? Why is he back all of a sudden? Why now? And why does he look like he’s half-dead, inside and out?

Keith takes Lance in, frowning. He’s thinned out considerably since January, and he’s always been thin, even when he was muscled. His hair has grown out a small amount, enough that Keith notices but not enough that his hairstyle has changed, and the bags under his eyes stand out starkly against his unusually pale skin. And he has a pimple. It’s tiny, but on his left cheekbone, a tiny red dot draws Keith’s attention.

Keith’s never seen Lance with acne before.

Lance doesn’t _get_ acne. Not with his skincare routine. Even the most acne-prone person would manage clear skin on even just half of Lance’s routine. Does that… does that mean Lance has been skipping out on his skincare? But Lance is so diligent, it would take a tragedy of epic proportions to convince him that his skin doesn’t matter.

“Lance,” Keith prompts, dismissing thoughts of acne for now, “why are you here?”

Lance crosses his arms on the island. His keeps his gaze low as he says, “my mom died.”

Keith freezes.

“What?”

“Cancer,” Lance explains, tracing a circle on the countertop.

Keith can’t help it; a tear slips down his cheek.

“Keith?” Lance asks, surprised.

Keith met Lance’s mother when they first landed on Earth, tired and sweaty and so happy to be home. Because Krolia had died within a year of them reuniting, Keith had lost his mother twice and never really gotten to be as close to her as he wished. Lance’s mother had filled that void; she was human, she was normal, and she wasn’t going to die in battle. She was supposed to pass away at a comfortable age, surrounded by the people who loved her.

The fact that Keith could receive motherly love from a woman who wasn’t his mother was astounding, and Keith had become attached quickly. He’d last seen her in late November, around the time Lance stopped talking to them, stopped inviting them to come have dinner.

And it’s not even just Keith’s personal connection. It’s that Lance’s mother had inquantable love for everyone. She put others before herself and did everything in her power to make sure everyone else was alright. Lance is a lot like her. For such a wonderful person to just be… _gone..._

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Keith asks quietly, making no move to wipe the tear from his cheek, where it’s edging over to his chin.

Lance looks away.

“I don’t know.” he mumbles.

“You should’ve told us,” Keith says.

Lance slams his fists down on the counter, looking up at Keith. His brow is furrowed, and there are tears glistening in the corners of his eyes.

“She’s- _was- my_ mother!” Lance exclaims. “How do you think I felt? Watching her waste away like that, my biggest priority wasn’t to tell as many people as possible!”

“I lost my mom, too!” Keith says, voice rising defensively, “I know exactly what it’s like!”

“No, you don’t!” Lance argues, standing, “your mother wasn’t stolen from you the second you got back from a ten-year long commitment in an intergalactic war!” Tears are still pooling in his eyes.

“My mother was _shot-_ ”

“I watched my mom _suffer_ for _months._ There was no healing pod for her!”

Lance is taller than Keith and his shoulders are broader, but Keith meets his glower head-on, chin raised. He refuses to back down.

Lance’s glare drops a moment later, though, and he leans back, taking a deep breath.

“Look,” he starts, “I’m not trying to get into a competition for who had it tougher when their mom died. It doesn’t matter. They’re both gone, and they were both some of the most amazing people I’ve ever been honoured enough to know. I’m sorry for trying to victimize myself.”

Keith crosses his arms, shifts his weight.

“But I just…” Lance rubs his face with a hand again, the other fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “I miss her so much,” he says at last, voice catching, “I’m sorry, Keith, I’m so sorry.”

Keith’s anger dissipates, and he drops his arms to his sides. “Have you talked to Hunk and Pidge yet?” he asks.

“I called them. I told them about what happened and they’re… fine with me, I guess. I… I already knew that once I told you, you’d be pissed. But I didn’t want you to stop talking to me, or anything like that. I just…” Lance cuts off, a sad gasp coming from his mouth. “I was really scared of telling you. I’m still scared of how you’ll react.”

Keith’s mouth is agape, so he clamps it shut, looking away. He takes his time finding something to say, eyes flitting around his kitchen.

“I’m not mad,” Keith says at last, “I’m not even disappointed.”

Lance seems to be somehow touched by this; he frowns deeper and squeezes his eyes shut. His face is flushed, like he’s embarrassed. He looks like he’s trying his best not to cry.

Keith’s shoulders slump, his heart breaking a little bit on Lance’s behalf, and he pauses only a second before rounding the counter and reaching out. Lance takes the hug gratefully, fisting Keith’s shirt in his hands as he presses his forehead against Keith’s shoulder.

“We’ve all been through so much together,” Keith says softly, “you could’ve told us.”

“I know,” Lance agrees, nodding, “I should’ve, and I’m so sorry I didn’t.”

“What’s done is done,” Keith says, “we’re here for you now, okay?”

Lance nods again, tufts of hair tickling Keith’s ear, “okay.”

Keith’s not sure how long they stay like that, embracing one another. It’s until Lance has long stopped gasping uncontrollably and Keith’s knees hurt from being locked for so long.

And Keith, becoming acutely aware of their closeness, lets go, clearing his throat. He doesn’t move far, though, one hand still on Lance’s shoulder blade.

“So,” he murmurs, eyes drifting over to the digital clock on the oven.

The bright green digits scream a warning that they’re edging past the three-quarter mark of four, and rolling dangerously close to five.

“I shouldn’t have shown up so late,” Lance says quickly, tracing Keith’s gaze, “I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” Keith says, “and it’s fine. I’m glad you came and told me instead of ignoring us forever.”

“Me too,” Lance says, “I missed you all so much.”

“We missed you more,” Keith replies, a yawn clipping the end of his sentence.

“Oh,” Lance says, starting as though coming to his senses, “you must be tired. I’ll get headed home-”

“Stay the night. Or the morning, I don’t know.” Keith interrupts, making his way from the kitchen.

“No, I couldn’t-”

“Lance.” Keith says, turning and deadpanning at Lance, which would have resulted in a collision between the two if Lance’s reflexes hadn’t been sharpened while serving Voltron, “it’s almost five. You’re not emotionally okay right now. I’m not letting you go home.”

Lance looks away. “Thanks, Keith,” he says, voice going soft. Keith looks away before the image of Lance, staring almost timidly off to the side, is seared into his mind forever and swaying him into not being upset anymore. No amount of gentle looks is going to make everything clear up. If anything, they’ll only serve to cloud Keith’s judgement more as feelings churn in his chest, untouched for months.

“Don’t mention it. Now come on. I probably have something you can wear to bed,” Keith says, gesturing at Lance’s clothes. There’s nothing wrong with what he’s wearing, not really, except his shirt smells a little like sweat, clearly having been worn for a few days straight at this point, and jeans are not proper sleeping attire, no matter what Lance, notorious for curling up anywhere and everywhere regardless of time or clothing to take a nap, might have to say on the matter.

Lance follows but doesn’t say anything more, lets Keith hand him a shirt that’s a touch too short, takes the oversized sweatpants that are waved in his general direction, and changes, before returning to Keith’s bedroom.

“C’mon,” Keith says, “I’ll throw your stuff in the washing machine in the morning. Well, later in the morning.”

“I can sleep on the couch,” Lance starts, fidgeting in the doorway.

“It’s not as big a deal as movies make it,” Keith says, “to share a bed. Girls do it all the time without it being a big thing, why can’t guys?”

“Yeah,” Lance agrees, “guess that’s true.”

And a few minutes later, settled comfortably next to each other in a way that is both familiar and unfamiliar, Lance whispers again.

“Thank you, Keith. I’m so sorry.”

Keith smiles a little. “Anything for one of you guys,” Keith says, “and I told you, stop apologizing.”

Lance shifts ever so slightly closer, eyes glinting in the light from the streetlights outside, “okay.”

“Good night, Lance.” Keith whispers, turning on the side that faces Lance.

“‘Night, Keith.” Lance whispers back, warm breath ghosting across Keith’s cheeks and reminding him of a desert breeze.

▸ ▹ 愛 ◂◃

It takes time, but Keith coaxes the story out of Lance that night, when they’re both still awake, restless, and Keith insists.

Lance’s mother was diagnosed with leukemia in the latter days of October. She was told she had little time and tried the few available treatments for the advanced stage of the disease. The team had landed in November, and Lance’s mother hasn’t told Lance until a week or so after the fact. Lance isolated himself in order to be there for his mother; in order to try and make up for lost time. She was in pain that meds wouldn’t cure, and it tore Lance up to see her in such a sorry state. In late December, Lance’s mother seemed to be getting better, before she took a turn for the worse in January. As February rolled around, it became clear that she was not going to get better. She passed quietly in Lance’s arms, surrounded by all of her children and grandchildren. By that point, Lance had fallen into a depression until his sister reminded he that he isn’t alone in his suffering. She dialed Hunk and left the phone on speaker, forcing Lance to talk to him. From there, Lance rekindled contact with Pidge and the three of them talked for about a week before Lance asked about Keith. At two in the morning, after being encouraged to speak to Keith earlier in the day by Pidge, Lance started to have an anxiety attack, brought on by his fear of losing Keith and anger at himself for letting his isolation even get that far in the first place. At three, it ended. By four, he had trudged to Keith’s doorstep in a daze, and the rest is history.

It’s heartbreaking to hear, and Keith understands Lance’s thought process so well it makes his heart clench.

“Are you okay with him, then?” Pidge asks, voice distorted over the phone. 

“I… I’m not sure if I’ve… forgiven him, I guess, but I’m glad he’s back.” Keith murmurs, making his way to the window. Early morning light spills over the sill and into his eyes. Keith squints.

“Yeah,” Pidge breathes, sighing. “Hunk slept over, so if you want, you two can come over and the four of us can play video games or something. Just like old times.”

“Ha,” Keith says, reminiscent, “I’ll ask him when he’s up.” A bee flies past his window, buzzing loudly.

“You don’t have to,” Pidge says, “if you’d rather just spend time with him, that’s fine, too.”

“Thanks,” Keith says, “maybe. I’ll still ask him, though.”

“Yeah, just let me know, okay? Hunk and I made a mess last night and I don’t want to clean it if I don’t have to and I don’t want you guys coming over when it’s a mess.”

“You made a mess,” Keith repeats, voice monotone as he zones out a little. He stares right at the sun, feeling a slight sting behind his eyes.

“Building a computer, man. We blew out a circuit in it and the whole thing is charred. And coincidentally in shambles across both my den and kitchen.” Pidge explains.

“I see,” Keith says, their conversation lapsing into a comfortable silence.

Pidge pipes up again after a moment though, “let me know if you’re coming. In the meantime, go deal with him.”

“Yeah.”

“Bye, Keith,” Pidge says, “take a few deep breaths, or something.”

Keith laughs half-heartedly, a sort of snort, “yeah. Bye, Pidge.”

“I loveeeee youuuuu.” Pidge adds.

“Funny,” Keith says, “I hate you.”

“I loveeeeeeeeee youuuuuuuuuuuuu, Keeeeeeeeeeeeeeiiiiiiiiiiithhhhhhh.” Pidge repeats, drawing out each syllable.

“Bye, gremlin.”

“Psh.” Pidge says, “bye, loser.”

Keith hangs up, smiling a little. Pidge cares more that she ever really says, and, as a byproduct, knows how to make Keith laugh at the exact right time.

Keith puts his cell down on the counter, turning back to his coffee machine. He drops one of the cups with pre-measured coffee already in it - he can never remember their names - into the top and shuts it, tapping the screen to increase his mug size. How much even is ten ounces? Whatever. Keith presses the start button, staring as the coffee starts brewing, bubbling in his cup.

His head snaps up when he hears the floor creak ever so slightly, and he catches sight of Lance.

The light from the kitchen window hits Lance and shrouds him in gold, contrasting brilliantly with his warm skin.

“Hey,” Keith says, “morning.”

“Morning,” Lance replies, lingering a few feet away, “what’s up?”

“Makin’ coffee. You want some?”

Lance nods, “sure.”

Keith nods to himself, watching as the coffee machine sputters to a stop, the display shouting at him to enjoy. Keith lifts the mug and raises it in Lance’s direction. Lance shuffles over until he’s next to Keith, gratefully taking the cup. His long fingers wrap around it, and Keith notices, for what must be the hundredth time, the scars across Lance’s fingers. Some of them are from using his bayard so much, some of them from climbing cliff faces on missions, some of them from close combat. Keith knows there’s long scars across both of Lance’s palms and fingers, from the time he had to grip at the blade of a sword to keep it from plunging into his throat.

“I’d like to apologize,” Lance starts, blowing on his coffee, “I shouldn’t have shown up last night like that.”

Keith shrugs, “it’s something I’d probably do, so that’s fine. Cream or sugar?”

Lance nods, “both, please. Still,” he continues, “it was uncalled for.”

“Lance, I’m not going to be mad at you for coming here and trying to fix things,” Keith says, reaching into a cupboard for another mug. It’s the red one with a little cartoon drawing of Voltron on it. Keith had bought it out of irony, amused at how mankind had found a way to merchandize the force that had kept intergalactic harm from them for a decade.

Keith slides the sugar container over to Lance, “here.”

Lance takes a small helping, thanking Keith. “But for real,” Lance says, stirring his coffee, “thank you. And I’m really sorry.”

“Lance,” Keith says, trying not to lose his patience, “I heard you the first time. I get it. You gotta figure this stuff out and realize that we’re here for you, but I get it.”

Lance shifts imperceptibly closer to Keith, their arms brushing.

“Okay,” he says, “starting today I’ll fix it.”

“That’s the spirit,” Keith says, feeling a little too much like he sounds like Shiro.

Keith grabs his own coffee, the mug burning to the touch but the handle cool in contrast.

“So…” Lance starts, eyes focussed on some invisible middle ground, taking a sip from his coffee.

Keith studies his profile, waiting.

“What about us?” Lance finally asks, turning to face Keith. Again with those bright blue eyes in an unshakeable gaze, referencing a concept that Keith had at first thought was completely out of reach.

“I don’t know.” Keith says, shrugging for what feels like the millionth time, “what do you want?”

Lance is quiet a moment, considering. He sets his mug down and lowers his gaze to it, watching as the steam rises and curls into the air.

And then he wordlessly takes Keith’s hand in his own.

Keith’s heart catches in his throat, breath hitching. _Oh._

“What do you want?” Lance asks softly.

Keith stares at Lance, at the way he won’t make eye contact, and then at their hands, Keith’s loose in Lance’s gentle grip.

Keith takes a deep breath.

And pulls his hand from Lance’s.

Lance’s gaze skips across the room as he lets his hand fall to his side.

“Okay,” he says.

“I’m not ready for that,” Keith says, “I-... I can’t.”

“It’s okay,” Lance repeats. He doesn’t even sound hurt, which gets to Keith more than anything.

“No,” Keith protests, “don’t say that. Tell me what you really feel.”

Lance furrows his brow. “I just want you to be happy. That’s all.”

“Well,” Keith huffs, “I’m not. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Lance looks away, fidgeting with his hands. “Not at all,” he mumbles.

“Look,” Keith says, trying to diffuse the situation of its sudden tension, “I’m trying my best. I don’t know what I need or what I want, but I do know that right now this is not a good idea. For me.”

“Why not?” Lance asks, “what’s so terrible about this? What’s so bad about me?”

“It’s not _you._ It’s… everything that could go wrong,” Keith replies, “I can’t lose you. I’ve already gotten a taste of that. And I learned that I need you with me. By my side.”

“Keith, you’d never lose me. I know now that I need you guys. I need _you._ ” Lance says, pausing to inhale and consider his next few words. “I want you. I want to spend as much time as I can with you.”

“I…” Keith shoves a hand through his hair. “ _Fuck._ ”

“I don’t need you to be my boyfriend,” Lance says quickly, backpedaling, “I just need you. However I can have you. And I respect that you’re not ready. But I’m here when you are, if you ever are.”

“Lance…” Keith starts. He opens his mouth to say something a few times, but falls short.

“You asked my how I really feel. That’s it. All my cards on the table.”

“It’s not you,” Keith repeats weakly.

“Don’t beat yourself up,” Lance retorts, “it’s not you, either.”

“No, it _is._ ” Keith protests, “I just… I feel so screwed up on my own, I don’t know how I can balance that sort of commitment on top of taking care of myself.”

Lance is quiet, considering this. Maybe Keith’s referring to his PTSD - the same thing each of the Paladins are burdened with - and the crushing fear of the war not really being over, of having to get back into those lions and _fight._ And Keith knows, all too well, that he’s probably going to have to get back into one of those lions again in the next year. And then he’s going to keep getting into one. He knows. They all do.

 _Voltron is a lifelong commitment,_ Coran had said, _not a job in passing. You’re going to have to defend the universe for as long as you can._

But maybe it’s Keith’s fear of being abandoned, of reliving the parts of his childhood he’d really rather forget. His fear of not being able to be adequate, or enough.

“Now, don’t take this as me forcing myself on you -” Keith snorts sarcastically as Lance starts up again - “but the whole point of being with someone is that you take care of each other. Everywhere you forget to take care of yourself, they take care of you. Everywhere they forget to take of themselves, you take care of them. It’s a balance. Give and take.”

Keith brings his gaze up to Lance’s eyes, violet against blue, “I can’t give that to you,” he breathes.

“You don’t have to,” Lance says, like it’s really that simple.

Lance doesn’t get it; Keith is so hopelessly in love with Lance, so head over heels, that he’s already come to the realization that he only possesses the ability to screw up whatever love they manage to cultivate.

And the fear. Oh, god, the _fear._

The fear of losing Lance. Of screwing up beyond proportions.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” Lance says, like he’s reading Keith’s mind.

Keith starts, jarred. “I’m not,” he protests quietly.

“You are,” Lance says, “I am too. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Keith looks away. He doesn’t want to deal with this. There’s no right answer and there’s no reassurances that everything’ll be okay.

“I don’t know,” Keith murmurs.

“That’s okay. I’ll be here when you do.” Lance gives Keith one of his bittersweet smiles and begins sipping at his coffee again.

Keith turns his gaze back to his own mug, taking a sip. It’s cold.

▸ ▹ 愛 ◂◃

“What do you call a happy ending?” Pidge asks, picking at some grass.

Lance shifts next to Keith, getting more comfortable. “Shiro’s life?” Keith asks, “the whole Disney princess gig, except he’s not censored.”

Hunk laughs, a warm sound that Keith has ached for without realizing it. “It probably sucks, though,” Hunk argues, “he has to learn how to be a dignitary.”

“We did, too,” Pidge argues, “don’t you recall the whole thing on Kedplar?”

“Please let me live that down,” Lance groans, “it was, like, eight years ago!”

Keith laughs, “it’s still funny.”

“You’re lucky their princess had a thing for you, Keith,” Pidge continues, “or we would’ve been executed.”

“I still don’t understand how she found Keith tripping over his own feet attractive,” Lance protests, smile in his voice, “didn’t she say that’s what endeared her most?”

“If I remember correctly, it was his “adorable missteps in his finest robes, which displayed the gentle side of his warrior’s front” that got her.” Hunk adds, more laughter falling from his lips.

“Ha, ha,” Keith says, “it’s still not as bad as strolling into a palace and yelling “hey, baby, what’s crackin’”, _Lance._ ”

“Shut up,” Lance retorts, but there’s no fire behind the words.

The four of them fall quiet, their laughter and stories melting into the night.

Pidge falls back, eventually, lying down next to Hunk, who she curls up next to in an attempt to glean some of his warmth.

“I love you guys,” she murmurs softly.

The sentiment is returned with the four of them shuffling closer, shoulder-to-shoulder with just enough room to move and breathe comfortably.

 _It really is beautiful,_ Keith supposes.

The stars above them seem to twinkle, and Keith lets his gaze drift over to his right, to Pidge and then Hunk. The moonlight casts them in an ethereal glow. Keith brings his eyes to his left, to Lance.

Lance, with the never-ending smile, with his thinly veiled sadness and his understanding eyes. Lance, with his want for a future of happiness, not for himself, but for everyone else in the universe.

The starlight catches his features just so, and Keith has to wonder if Lance really does have freckles he’d never noticed before. Maybe a trick of the light? Even so, Lance is _beautiful._ Beneath his exterior, which is only more beautiful with the thin line arching over his chin, just one of his few facial scars, is a beautiful _person_. Keith has to wonder if it’s truly possible for a person to be so beautiful. His heart squeezes. Perhaps Lance is only so gorgeous to Keith, who has never felt a love as expansive as his love for Lance.

And there is the issue of that, too. Of Keith’s heart, which is so convinced it loves Lance that Keith is often resigned to thinking of the fact.

 _It would be so easy,_ he thinks, not for the first time this evening, _to take his hand._

He wonders what it would be like, to let himself succumb to his feelings and let a future with Lance unfurl. What could really go wrong? What could go so completely wrong that there’d be no coming back from it?

Keith takes a deep breath.

The world wouldn’t end if he just… 

Keith lets his finger brush against Lance’s.

And he’s already gotten this far, hasn’t he? And there’s no harm done, so maybe… 

Keith takes Lance’s hand.

Lance’s eyes snap open and he turns his face toward Keith.

Keith meets the stare head-on, hoping that his apprehension isn’t clear in his eyes.

Keith squeezes once.

He sees the boy from ten years ago in front of him, without the stubble or the sharp jaw or the scars or the haircut. Keith sees Lance as a teen, before he really knew what bloodshed looked like or what it meant to lose innocence to war. The boy that had dived headfirst into piloting a lion and protecting an entire universe, even though it meant he couldn’t see his family and that his life was on the line at every given moment. The boy who had poked fun at Keith just for having long hair and getting himself expelled. Keith sees the boy he’d fallen for without having even realized it.

And now, blinking away the past and delving back into the present, Keith sees the boy who’d matured into a man, who’d lost his mother and learned how to cherish every single day as it came, because the future is not promised. The man who still gasps at sunsets and night stars, no matter how many times he sees them, no matter how many different planets he’s been to. The man that Keith is still in love with, ten years later with so many opportunities to find another.

Lance’s grip tightens, and Keith wonders what he might be thinking.

Nearly a month after rejection, and Keith has changed his mind. Maybe it’s because of the inexplicable pull Lance has over Keith. Maybe it’s the realization that he only has so much time, and he can’t bear the thought of spending it worrying about what could go wrong instead of trying to make something of it.

“We’re doing this,” Keith breathes, a second after Lance begins to ask, “are we doing this?”

The soft exchange is, for the most part, lost on Hunk and Pidge, and Keith has to remind himself that his friends are still there, lest he do something rash like _kiss_ Lance.

Later that night, after the four of them dust off their pants and head for their cars, Keith and Lance to Keith’s because they live close to one another, and Pidge and Hunk to Hunk’s so they can continue building their computer, Lance poses another question.

“Are you afraid?”

Keith considers it for a moment before answering.

“Yes.” he says, the admission falling from his lips with ease.

“Me, too,” Lance agrees.

“Don’t be,” Keith replies.

“Why not?”

“Because why waste a second being scared?”

Lance laughs at this, a warm sound, “I guess you’re right, Mullet.”

“Not a mullet,” Keith replies automatically.

“I guess that’s true, too,” Lance says softly, letting his head rest on the window as he regards the outside world, passing by in a dark blur.

Keith just smiles.

▸ ▹ 愛 ◂◃

Lance is stiller than Keith has ever seen before in his seat, staring blankly at the pile of flowers surrounding the casket. There isn’t an actual body in it, Keith knows, the late Mrs. McClain having been cremated and ashes spread in her hometown of Havana and on her favourite beach of Varadero. The headstone they’d bought was there to immortalize her memory and grant the remaining McClain family place to pay their respects.

Keith glances over at Lance, takes notes of the tears in his eyes that have yet to fall. Further over, Luis has his head buried in his hands, and Veronica holds her head high, tears having traced the gentle curves of her face, which she holds in a carefully crafted mask; she’d told Keith earlier that her mother is still with her, even if her body isn’t, and that she would celebrate her instead of mourn.

And to Keith’s left, Marco, his youngest daughter in his arms. He’s whispering something in her ear, and she seems taken aback, but holds her silence in understanding of the somber air.

Somewhere in the crowd of people, a baby lets out a cry. Their mother is quick to shush them, uttering frantic words. She’s crying, too, Keith realizes.

Keith touches the back of Lance’s hand reassuringly. Lance looks over at him, and Keith offers an open look, a promise that it’ll be okay. Lance’s lip quirks up on one side, but the rest of his face remains guarded, closed off and tense. He looks away barely a second later, and Keith’s heart lurches for Lance. He’s been offering love and kind words to all his relatives, thanking them for coming, embracing them. He’s been trying to take their sadness and pull it onto his own shoulders, taking their burden for his own so that they can breathe easy without the weight on their shoulders, even if for a little while.

But Lance needs to breathe, too.

Once the pastor - minister? The official in any regard - has finished speaking and Marco has said some words, and Mrs. McClain’s younger brother comes up to the front in his wheelchair, Lance steps up to the podium and clears his throat.

“I’m not special,” he begins, “and the only advantage I could ever hope to possess over anyone is my family. Everyone here.” Lance meets Keith’s eyes, and Keith can’t help but smile a little.

“And my mom… she was a big part of that advantage. She… my mom has been there for me forever. She… she knew how to make even the worst of things fun. She saw the good in everything and in everyone, and she wasn’t afraid to beat it out of you.” the group shares a small laugh, many of them drawing off experience. “All five-foot-five of her,” Lance adds softly, offering the procession a small smile.

“Si pudiera tenerla de vuelta, daría casi cualquier cosa. Pero ella todavía está con nosotros.” Lance reaches a hand to his chest, right over his heart, “aquí. No lo olvides.”

Keith knows just enough Spanish to scrape by if he needs to, but even he can derive the heartfelt meaning. He clenches his jaw, fighting the lump in his throat.

“I know it’s cheesy,” Lance says then, earning another laugh, and then softer, “pero es verdad.”

His gaze drifts across the different faces, and catches on one in the back of the crowded hall. Lance nods, almost imperceptible, while holding eye contact, but continues. “Gracias por venir hoy para despedir a mi madre. Thank you for coming to see off my mother.”

Lance turns from the stand as Veronica makes her way past him. She touches his shoulder and whispers something to him, and he nods solemnly.

There’s a point where everyone’s standing and heading for the doors, and so Keith follows, Lance grabbing him by the hand to lead. The entire group is at the headstone soon enough, gathering around it. Someone says something - it’s in Spanish and religious so it flies completely over Keith’s head - and a few more official things happen that Keith can’t pay attention to, because Lance’s hand is warm in his and he’s squeezing, needing support. And slowly, the crowd begins to descend into quiet conversation. Keith hears a few people crying, his own tears reminding him that they exist and stinging his eyes. Numerous family members come over to them to embrace Lance, before they recognize Keith and thank him for his service. Keith gets a few hugs, too, Mrs. McClain’s family knowing her effect on people even a few moments after meeting her.

The two of them stand there until the entire crowd has dwindled down to just a few, and then they keep standing there until the sun starts setting and Lance’s immediate family has to excuse themselves. They stay until it’s been over an hour since Hunk and Pidge have left, the last people in the cemetery aside from themselves.

Lance heaves a sigh and slumps, leaning ever-so-slightly on Keith for support.

“Hey,” Keith says softly, the first thing he’s said to Lance since the previous night, “how’re you holding up?”

“Like shit,” Lance says, his voice barely there as he fights off tears.

“That’s okay,” Keith says, “I got you.”

“Thanks, Keith,” Lance rasps, brow pinching. His mouth sets in a wobbly line.

Keith just squeezes Lance’s hand once in support.

“It’s just,” Lace managed to get out, heaving in a breath, “she’s really gone.”

“I know,” Keith murmurs, “I know.”

“I thought I’d have more time,” Lance breathes, suddenly regretful, “I made her so many promises I couldn’t- I was gonna take her to Paris - she wanted to go to Paris and-” Lance cuts off, tears on his cheeks. He lets go of Keith’s hand and uses both of his own to rub at his face, hands getting in his hair and ruining the taming that had taken Veronica nearly an hour to do that morning. 

Lance groans frustradely, “I want my mom, Keith.”

Keith’s frown only deepens. Lance cries harder. Dimly, Keith registers it’s the first time Lance has cried over his mother’s death in front of him. And that it’s the third time he’s seen Lance cry, period.

The first time, on a planet their second year into fighting as Voltron, when Keith had returned to the team on a short leave from the Blade of Marmora. A resident had placed a crown of flowers on Lance’s head and whispered a small _gracias_ that she’d overheard Lance teaching to some of the village’s children. Lance had looked shell-shocked, and he held the girl tightly for a moment. He’d murmured a thanks back, and then pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, her face held delicately between his hands. Lance had sniffled, and Keith had finally noticed the single tear that had trekked down his cheek.

And the second time, when a little girl had coming stumbling up to their team, clutching a stuffed animal in her hand and a flower in the other, crying her eyes out. Her planet had just been newly liberated, but her entire family - all three parents, two siblings, and a pet - had all perished in the fight. She was old enough to understand they were dead, but not quite able to grasp _why._ She’d tripped over her own feet and begun falling to the ground, but Lance had caught her before she ended up with a bloodied nose. He’d pulled her close against his armour and whispered reassuringly to her, even sang a low song in her ears, to which her wailing had slowed to hiccups and small sobs. He rocked her to sleep, and insisted on finding her a home himself, even though Allura had half-heartedly argued the planet’s leaders would take her in. With an emotional and completely correct argument from Lance, Allura had relented, her own heart lurching for the girl. Once she’d been tucked away in a room, Keith had seen Lance crouched outside of her door, his face in his hands and a few stray tears on his face.

A boy, Keith had realized then, who saw the universe’s hurt and felt it as his own. A boy who tried to take the burden from others and make it his own at no cost, empathy his shield against facing his own hurt. The boy who’d rather suffer, and silently, than another person have to face even the thought of it.

“I’m- there’s this _ache -_ ” Lance grips at his chest, pulling at his shirt, and bringing Keith hurtling back to the present - “and the only thing I want to comfort me right now is my mom, but I can’t even- I can’t even hug my mom anymore.”

Keith shuts his eyes, trying his best to stay strong. _For Lance,_ he reminds himself.

“I know,” Keith says, “it’s okay. I know how happy she was that she was able to see you again.”

“But that doesn’t even _matter._ ” Lance protests.

“No, it does,” Keith insists, “she didn’t need you to take her to Paris or be perfect or anything. She just wanted you with her. And I know how happy it made her to be able to have that. To have _you._ ”

Lance turns to Keith and says quietly, “thank you, Keith.” a sob clips his words, so Keith holds out his arms and gestures for Lance to come in for a hug.

Lance takes it gratefully and buries his face into Keith’s shoulder. They stand like that for a while, embracing, until the moon has moved ever-so-slightly in the sky, and there’s a few more clouds surrounding it.

“What now?” Lance says later, once he’s calmed his sobs to occasional hiccups. There are still tears on his cheeks, but his chin is resting on Keith’s shoulder now and his desperate squeeze has shifted to a warm and tired weight.

“Do you want to head home?” Keith asks.

“I don’t want to leave,” Lance says, “‘cause if I do, it’ll mean today’s over and she’s really gone.”

Keith smiles, a bittersweet thing, “and that’s okay. It sucks at first, and then you get used to it.”

Lance is about to say something, unimpressed, but Keith continues. “And then you realize she’s still with you in some way. Like this,” Keith says, reaching up. His fingers ghost across his own cheek, tracing the line of his single mark, identical to half of his mother’s.

“Like this,” Keith repeats, and he touches his fingers to Lance’s chest, “like you said, it’s cheesy, but it’s true.”

Lance stares at Keith’s fingers, impossibly pale against the fabric of his suit.

“Lance?”

“I know I kept saying it, that she’s with us, or whatever, but I didn’t really believe it.” Lance admits, “but now, it seems so much more possible.”

Keith shuts his eyes and lets his forehead fall against Lance’s, letting out a laugh-breath hybrid. 

“Thanks, Keith.”

Keith murmurs, “anything for you.”

▸ ▹ 愛 ◂◃

“May I have this dance?”

 

Keith turns, met with an earnest smile from Lance, one hand extended. Keith, with one hand around a champagne flute, and the other poised at his ear where he’s tucking back hair, blinks. “Of course,” he breathes.

Lance smiles, not a trace of mirth, like expected - it’s just love, like the look Keith had seen Allura shoot Shiro so many months ago, replicated just this morning at the altar of a small church.

Keith lets Lance take the flute and put it on a nearby table, lets Lance take him by the hands and guide him to the dance floor, just as [the next song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WnUR3be5Ebk) starts.

Keith is sure he’s heard it before, a slow song with sad lyrics that Shiro personifies with too much for Keith’s liking. It’s perfect for dancing, though, especially when it’s Lance who’s dancing with Keith.

And Lance is exquisite in all the ways Keith has always known - he takes the lead and Keith lets him, his hand coming to rest on Lance’s shoulder, his suit stiff to the touch.

They start out slow, just swaying to the song. Lance mouths the words, and Keith smiles, letting himself be pulled closer until they’re almost chest-to-chest, Lance’s voice soft in Keith’s ear as he whispers the lyrics.

As the instrumental changes, and a new beat joins the rest, Lance matches, switching the direction they’re moving in ever-so slightly at each chord change. Keith follows along, but just barely; he’d sooner play the music than dance to it.

Lance’s hand, Keith notices, is warm. Lance, Keith thinks, not for the first time, is beautiful.

“I love you,” Lance whispers, his lips ghosting across the shell of Keith’s ear.

Keith presses his face into the material of Lance’s shirt, content to just inhale his cologne and let the singer’s voice envelop them.

Like this, it feels like Keith could spend forever just standing next to Lance, just holding each other and swaying. The people around them fall away, the ones who make their ways onto the dancefloor suddenly nonexistent.

It’s just them.

Keith and Lance.

Lance and Keith.

Part of the official defenders of the Universe.

Part of each other.

Space ranger partners, Lance had called them once.

“If I love you, was a promise, would you break it, if you’re honest?”

Keith grins despite himself.

“I’m not always honest,” he murmurs back, just loud enough for Lance to hear, “but that’s a promise I don’t plan on breaking anytime soon.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hit 8.4k, which for me is a big deal. Yay! My next goal is 10k! With your continued support, I'm sure I'll be able to do it in no time at all! 
> 
> The song they dance to is idontwannabeyouanymore by Billie Eilish! good song good song i like it
> 
> Basically this is just two dorks coming to love one another... it's the sort of relationship where you go from "we have history but have had a falling out and arent on the best terms rn" to "i guess we're in love, huh?" without there really being a discussion or anything, it just happens and everyone's on the same page. And not in a bad "we don't communicate" sort of way but in a "we'll talk it out, but for now we're good. we're on the same page. we've got this." A single entity, if you will. A soft lovestory.
> 
> I hate myself for killing off mama mcclain msankjh sgvaagybukj,
> 
> THanK YOU FOR READING ALL THE WAY DOWN TO HERE!
> 
> [SPOILER-ISH:] Season six was a ride and if you haven't seen it gO SEE IT  
> i haven't cried yet and it makes me so sad but i feel super empty inside
> 
> Other:  
> I remember uploading like three one-shots during my exam week, and wish I could've done that again this year jjust to carry on the tradition, but I had 5 exams - one per each exam day oooof but for what it's worth it's 1AM the night before I have to go to school to get my marks!! Rip me!!! but otherwise hELL YEAH SUMMER VACATION HERE'S TO HOPEFULLY 20+ PLUS WORKS  
> s/o to me, it's been an entire year since my first Voltron work dAMn holy shit that's a long ti me 
> 
> okAY BYE I LOVE YOU


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